Battle Scars
by irishais
Summary: It's better to let go, to give up, to move on. It's logic, really, and Quistis can't make herself believe a word of it. IrvinexQuistis, SeiferxQuistis, 100 drabble series.
1. Destiny

_A/N: The entire arc is being written for the Livejournal community, "fatedchildren." The challenges I picked were that I had to write one thing for each prompt (there are a hundred), and that all the prompts had to connect in an arc. Will mostly be drabbles, and pretty much runs the gamut ratings-wise. You have been warned. Enjoy! _

_**Battle Scars**_

_1. Destiny_

There's an awkward moment between them, and Quistis already begins to think that it's wrong, _all wrong_, but suddenly Irvine has his arms around her waist and his mouth against hers–

She shoves her hands against his chest and pushes him back. "What are we doing?"

Irvine looks at her with something like confusion in his eyes; his heart's pounding against his chest and he doesn't want to admit to her that he _doesn't know_, that he can't let her go because something in him will just...stop.

"Irvine..."

Quistis reaches up with a tentative hand and presses her palm against the curve of his cheek, and he leans into her touch with a half sigh and a hope to anyone who listens that he won't fuck this up. He doesn't know how they got here.

He doesn't think he wants to.


	2. Fear

_2. Fear_

Quistis slides out of bed in the middle of the night to curl up in the middle of Irvine's bathroom and cry, because at this point, she can't help it. She wants _Seifer_ of all people to be there, to hold her and let her sob on his shoulder. She misses him. She's terrified she isn't going to be able to see him again, to talk to him like they used to.

She's terrified that Seifer is really dead.

There's a knock on the door and she wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, streaking mascara across her face and certain that she looks as hellish as she feels.

He doesn't say anything, just kneels in front of her in nothing but a pair of idiotic boxers, his fingers lifting her chin and his eyes too understanding to be sincere.


	3. Freedom

_3. Freedom_

"It's going to rain," Quistis comments over her morning coffee as she stands out on the balcony, the wind whipping through her hair. Squall grunts; it's too early for him to be awake and Quistis hasn't slept at all.

"You and Irvine." It's not a question, just a statement, and again, Squall's abrupt way of saying things catches her off guard. It's a wonder that she doesn't drop the mug.

_You and Irvine_.

As if they were together. As if a couple of trysts actually _means_ anything, especially in Squall's world–he's got the perfect life and the perfect family. He doesn't need her anymore, and while it used to make her sad to think that, Quistis believes she's come to terms with the idea. At least, thinking about it doesn't make her physically sick like it used to.

"There's no 'me and Irvine'," she said quietly. She's waiting for Seifer, but she just...she _needs_ the companionship, and honestly, if Seifer is really dead, doesn't that mean that Quistis has the freedom to do what she wants?

Squall just looks at her and Quistis knows he doesn't believe her–she hasn't ever been very good at lying.


	4. Courage

_4. Courage_

"Hi."

"Hey."

There's silence, the majority of it being awkward, and Quistis calls herself a number of rude names, probably the worst of them being "coward," before Irvine speaks again.

"You know...we don't have to do this."

"I know."

She sits on the edge of her bed and fiddles with the tie on her uniform. The SeeD crest glints in the early afternoon light–she's all dressed up with nowhere to go since Xu's taken over her classes for the time being. Quistis doesn't know why she's wearing the uniform; any other sane person would have just taken a leave of absence to grieve. It's probably her way of holding on instead of letting go. She's always been too afraid to let go.

She doesn't want to be left with nothing.

The light on the crest disappears as Irvine's shadow falls across her instead.

_Wimp. Coward_.

Quistis flinches, but only slightly as he touches her head, and Irvine lets his hand fall. He makes a sound that almost sounds disgusted as he sits down next to her, a good foot and a half of space between them.

_Coward_.

Disgusted with himself? Or disgusted with her?

She's a wreck, Quistis decides, so she reaches for him and lets herself fall apart.


	5. Pride

_5. Pride_

It's really a matter of pride, Irvine decides as he slams back another shot. Whiskey burns all the way down, and at this point, it's not burning in a good way. His stomach churns but he fills the glass again.

_Goddamn Quistis_.

He can't function without her, he doesn't know how to be _stable_ without her.

She doesn't believe him, doesn't want to believe they could have a future, because all she cares about is _Seifer Almasy_, and whether or not he survived. Irvine's willing to bet it's a no–he _saw_ Seifer get shot. He saw the knight errant fall. He _saw _everything, and most importantly, he saw the body go into the churning sea.

Irvine drinks, and wonders what Quistis ever saw in Seifer in the first place. Probably some bullshit plan to "redeem" Almasy. The boy didn't _need_ redemption; what he needed was a fucking mental institution, but he's dead now.

He doesn't believe that Seifer survived.

The bitter burn of whiskey hits the back of his throat like a nightmare and Irvine wishes Almasy had never been born. The cowboy _can't_ believe that Seifer survived, because if that was the case, then whatever is going on between he and Quistis wouldn't mean a damn thing.

Irvine isn't sure that he can handle that.

He pours another shot.


	6. Office Work

_A/N: This is where it gets interesting--prompts 1-5 fit together in an arc, but the rest do not. Therefore, from here on out, the number that precedes each prompt is actually the number of the prompt on the list, not the chapter number. Ex: Technically, this is the sixth drabble, but the prompt is #46. _

_46. Office Work_

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

_I'm filling out a transfer._

"Awful focused for nothing."

"I like paperwork, okay?"

Her pen stops working, and as Quistis curses under her breath, Irvine silently hands her another one. "...Thank you."

"Yeah."

She doesn't like this, the long pauses and the scrabble for words that won't be too harsh, too bitter, or, at the other end of the spectrum, too needy. Her eyes roam down to the paper, and in frustration, Quistis discovers that she has managed to spell "Trabia" wrong. She reaches for the correction fluid.

"Quistis?"

"Hm?"

"Come over tonight." There's something in the undercurrent of his voice that makes her pulse quicken. It's something like desperation and a little like seduction. Quistis isn't sure how to react.

"No," she says finally, and his shoulders fall. "I'm sorry, but no."

_Too cold_.

She really is an ice queen.

"Right." He's leaving now, and he's taking part of her heart with him, but it doesn't matter, because Quistis isn't using it for anything, obviously.

She stares down at the request of transfer. "Trabia" is still spelled wrong, and she still hasn't signed the bottom of it.


	7. Gunpowder

_16. Gunpowder_

Exeter's a fine gun. Irvine's of the mind that a gun should never be tainted with a sword; it's safe to say he's not really fond of gunblades, especially not with cocky half-wits like Almasy wielding them. He polishes another piece, sets it aside in an order that only he understands, and turns his attention to the next bit as a knock threatens to interrupt his one moment of calm.

Irvine ignores it, with the hope that whoever is on the other side will take the hint.

They don't.

He lines up all the parts to his gun in a row, largest to smallest, just to dawdle.

Doesn't work.

There's a quiet click, and the door scrapes across the carpet.

"I'm sorry."

Irvine has to laugh, and it's bitter and cynical when he does. "Sure."

"Irvine..."

His hands are steady and careful as he reassembles Exeter–the gun doesn't deserve the abuse he wants to give it. It hasn't done anything wrong. "What the hell are you doing here?" he asks. "I asked you before if you wanted this. If the answer's changed, I need to know." Pieces slide into place in the silence, locking together with a pronounced click that means at least _something_ is working how it should. He sights down the barrel at an imaginary target on the wall.

"The answer hasn't changed."

He puts the gun down.


	8. Me and You

_86. "Me and You." _

He's whispering things to her, words that in daylight would make her blush, but that in the dark seem like the best ideas she has ever heard. Her hands are at his waist, moving him where _she_ wants him to go, and Irvine goes...

In the dark, it's so much easier to drop the walls and forget who they pretend to be, just for a little while. When it's over, and she's got her head tucked into his shoulder, he says that he likes this, that he's glad she's here.

_There is no "me and Irvine." _

Quistis traces abstract patterns across his chest and when she doesn't respond, Irvine thinks that's okay, that's enough for now.


	9. Dreams

_99. Dreams_

Quistis is muttering in her sleep, but it's become almost routine that she dreams and he wakes, so he's not surprised when his eyes slide open this time. Her hands are digging into the pillow, her eyes darting back and forth beneath the lids.

"_Seifer_," she murmurs fitfully.

Seifer. It's always _Seifer_.

"Don't..." It's as if she senses him, ready to slide out of bed and leave her alone for a while, because she hugs his arm tightly and he _can't_ leave. "Seifer–"

Irvine wishes she wouldn't talk in her sleep. It's not making this easy.


	10. Storm

_62. Storm_

The weather seems to match their mood–the storm has been raging for hours and they've been fighting for almost as long. Selphie pounds on the thin wall that separates her dorm room from Quistis's and threatens them with bodily harm if they don't _shut up_.

They're not listening.

It doesn't make her _angry_, really, that Irvine chose Quistis over her. Selphie thinks it's because she and Irvy were too much alike, that's why they never quite worked out the way everyone believed. They were good together, but after a while, it's possible for two people to run out of things to say to each other.

Selphie sighs and yanks her pillow over her head–she supposes that was at least _one_ good thing about her relationship with Irvine. They didn't fight_ nearly _as much.


	11. Hot Water

_A/N: A bit saucy, but nothing descriptive. Earns the T rating. _

_47. Hot Water_

Her back is pressed against the tiles of the shower–later, she'll discover the imprints, a stigmata of the moment, but right now, she's more focused on whatever he's doing with his hands than anything else.

This is worth the fighting.

"_Quistis_." The word vibrates through her as he buries his face into her neck, and at that moment, it is the only word in the world.

Oh, _Hyne_, yes, this is worth the fighting.


	12. Lost and Found

_7. Lost and Found_

"Are you happy?"

"Sir?"

"Are you _happy_, Quistis?" Cid is sitting at his desk, acting like this is the most normal conversation in the world, and Quistis isn't sure how to answer him.

"Happy, sir?"

"Yes. Happy."

"...How so?"

There's a brief, uncomfortable pause.

"With Irvine."

"There's..._Irvine_, sir?" She's stalling, and they both know it, but Cid waits patiently for her answer.

_Happy? _

She can't remember the last time she ever deliberately applied that word to herself, but she supposes...maybe...Yes. Maybe "happy."

Better than she has been, anyway. She tells Cid as much.

"That's good," Cid says with a nod and a knowing smile. "Good. Now, about these reports..."


	13. Mirror

_67. Mirror_

She doesn't like her reflection very much in the florescent lights, Quistis decides, and pinches her cheeks in an effort to make herself look less pale. Back in her dorm, there's an entire kit that she could use to make it look like she had a good night's sleep, but in Irvine's bathroom, there's some deodorant, a razor, a hairbrush, and a can of shaving cream that's been rusted so badly by the sink it looks like it's been sitting there since the Stone Age. It's Irvine's fault. He snores.

She makes a face at herself in the mirror, tries out a sneer sort of like one Seifer would do. It doesn't really make her feel better. "Tough girl," she tells Mirror-Quistis, and finishes fixing her hair.


	14. Bad Days

_72. Bad Days_

The phone is ringing, and Irvine is not feeling terribly compelled to answer it, so he doesn't. It's Squall's office, anyway, so what's the point? He sharpens another pencil and chucks it at the ceiling, narrowly avoiding getting stabbed in the eye as it fails to stick. It hits him on the head, instead. He's been waiting for half an hour now–he's pretty sure that Squall abandoned them all and went on holiday somewhere warm. Balamb sucks during the winter.

"Stop wasting pencils." Squall's carrying what looks to be a keg of coffee–judging by the dark circles under his eyes, Irvine wouldn't be surprised if the commander made Dr. Kadowaki give him the stuff intravenously.

"Sharpenin' 'em for you."

"Stop it." Squall snatches the telephone off its cradle so hard Irvine is amazed that it doesn't go flying off the desk. "Leonhart."

"Kill you to get some manners?" Irvine mutters and Squall gives him a death glare.

"Excuse me?" Squall's tone has Irvine ceasing trying to figure out the password to the commander's computer. "...I don't have time for games."

There's a man on the phone, and he doesn't sound terribly amused. At Irvine's raised eyebrow, Squall stabs the speakerphone button, ignoring his better judgement for now.

"–said, where the fuck's _Quistis_?"


	15. I'm Not Laughing

_96. "I'm not laughing."_

The telephone is clenched so tightly in her hand that Quistis's knuckles have gone as white as the receiver. "This isn't funny," she says, once she can find her voice again.

"I'm not laughing."

"How–"

"I don't know."

This isn't possible. It's not. There's no way.

"Quistis..." He doesn't sound like himself–he sounds pained, unsure. "You still there?"

_Hello, Instructor_.

"...Yeah. Yes. Where are you?"

"Timber."

"Can you get to Balamb?"

"I think I've got enough cash to swing it..." His voice trails off, and she hears the ruffling of paper in the background. The sound doesn't last for very long.

"I'll make arrangements."

With a hand that shakes just a tiny bit despite her best effort, Quistis hangs up the phone.

_What the hell am I supposed to do now?_


	16. Waiting

_55. Waiting_

Her heart is beating a million miles per hour in her chest as she collects a test on advanced Junctioning, but it isn't the test that's doing this to her.

What the hell is she going to say to him?

What do you say to a dead man?

She stares at the clock and alternates between wishing that it were two hours from now and wishing that it would stay 1151 forever.

"Instructor Trepe?"

Her students are watching her, and Quistis has no answers for them, certainly no excuses as to why she's daydreaming and not teaching them something useful. "Dismissed." It's six minutes before the bell rings. So much for her reputation.

1154. Time is progressing whether she wants it to or not.

She gathers up the papers and goes to meet Irvine for lunch.


	17. Reunion

_39. Reunion_

One hand is clenched on the wheel and the other possessively claims Quistis' fingers. They don't speak, because what would they say? _I'm jealous of a guy that's supposed to be dead?_

Somehow, he doesn't think that's really a wise conversation starter, so Irvine focuses on finding a parking space rather than getting in another fight. If all else fails, he can shoot Almasy for real, and they can all move on with their lives.

He spends too much time looking for a parking space when he could just pull up in front of the station, but he wants to put it off as long as possible.

He doesn't want to lose her to _Almasy_.


	18. Heart

_19. Heart_

She's a goddamn ray of sunshine. Watching her walk is better than booze and sex combined, and Hyne knows that those are two of Seifer's favorite past times. He's trying to figure out what to say to her–maybe he'll just get up and hug her and life will be all hunky dory.

She stops a yard away, crosses her arms and looks down at him in that sexy angry librarian way he's always been fond of. Irvine's with her, too. Maybe he's planning on shooting Seifer for real this time, wouldn't that be nice?

"...Seifer."

Ah, she speaks, yet she says nothing. "Quistis." Hell, he doesn't know what to tell her–_sorry I'm not dead?_ There's an awkward tension that hangs between them. Irvine goes a few feet away and lights a smoke, and they're something like alone.

"Not even a hug?" He throws his arms wide, and neither of them can tell if he's serious or not. When her expression shifts, he drops his arms. "What?" His question's quiet.

"Why didn't you come back?"

Oh, hell. "It's a long story."

"You could have _called_. Six _months_, Seifer. Six months, and everyone thought you were dead."

His chest gets abruptly tight, because it looks like she's going to cry, and he can't _stand_ it when her face does that...thing. He reaches for her.

"Don't."

"Quis..."

"Just...don't."

So he doesn't.


	19. Change

_28. Change_

"Why not?" It's a challenge, one she can't answer, one she doesn't want to answer.

"Seifer..." His name is a sigh on her lips, and he doesn't know how badly she wants to touch him again, but she won't. "Things have changed."

"Tch." He picks up his bag–it's falling apart at the seams, and it'll be a miracle if he gets it to the car with all his stuff intact. There's a silence she hates, but he breaks it before she has to. "Look, Quistis...I'm sorry. For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

Irvine returns then, and puts his hand almost possessively on Quistis' shoulder, and for that moment, she hates Irvine for the pain and anger that abruptly appears on Seifer's face when he realizes just how _much_ everything has changed. "We goin'?"

She shrugs his hand off her shoulder. "We're going."

_I can explain_...she wants to say as Seifer storms past them to the parking lot, and knows that she can't.


	20. Wishful Thinking

_21. Wishful Thinking_

He's sitting on the balcony with his guitar, and he can't think of anything but depressing songs. So he plays those, slowly, and pretends he's not jealous. He can feel her watching him over his shoulder, leaning against the glass door that separates them with a cup of coffee in her hands. He strikes a wrong chord, curses, tries again.

He doesn't want to fight with her, which is what's going to happen if she opens the door, so he doesn't look back, just tunes one of the strings and keeps playing, hoping she'll get the hint.

She opens the door anyway, padding out onto the balcony in bare feet. Irvine expects her to say something sharp or vaguely apologetic, but she doesn't, just slides down the wall until she's seated next to him, her head coming to rest on his shoulder with a sigh that he can't define.

He keeps playing, fingers sliding up and down the strings, and keeps pretending he's not jealous.


	21. I'm Sorry

_A/N: I very highly recommend you all get your hands on a copy of The Rasmus' "SAIL AWAY." It's the best Irvine song ever. _

_89. "I'm sorry..."_

It's Quistis who caves first–it always seems to be her–and she knocks reluctantly on his door. "Seifer," she calls. "Seifer, open the door."

She will _never_ admit to him how much better it makes her feel to just say his name and know that he'll respond to it.

"It's open," he calls from somewhere within, and so she enters, feeling like a stranger even though she's been in this room a thousand times before. Seifer is stretched out on the couch, eyes closed and the television on, some talk show she knows he doesn't care about. "What do you want?" he mutters, his eyes sliding open to reveal faint shards of green.

"I just wanted to see how you were doing."

"Fine." His response is curt and sharp, and tells her in no uncertain terms that he really doesn't want to talk to her.

"Seifer, about at the station..."

"You love him, don't you?" Seifer's never been one to mince words. It isn't the question she was expecting, at least not in that tone, the one that says he's resigned himself to the idea and hates himself for doing so.

"You were _dead_. What was I supposed to do? Mourn you forever?"

"I don't know." He grasps her hand and this time she lets him. She should at least let him have that before it's all over. "Why _him_?"

"I'm sorry..." she begins, but he moves faster and suddenly his arms are around her waist and his lips are against hers, and Quistis can't quite remember what she was going to say next.


	22. Disaster

_38. Disaster_

She kisses him back before she realizes what she's doing, and it's only when she's on her back amidst rumpled bedsheets and Seifer is kissing his way down her throat that a vague and disconnected part of her brain sends off a warning signal.

He's discarded his shirt, and his hand is sliding up her thigh when the signal turns into full-blown klaxons. "Stop," she gasps in a voice she almost doesn't recognize as her own, and he does, out of surprise, his head lifting to meet her eyes.

"_What?_" It's a ragged whisper of a question, and she knows that he's just _barely_ able to hold off on whatever he has in mind. He rests his head against her shoulder and waits for a good excuse, one hand warm against her knee and the thumb of the other lightly grazing her cheek. He counts her heartbeats to regain his composure.

"Quis..." She's been quiet for too long.

"I can't." It comes out too much like a question for Quistis' tastes.

Seifer draws a deep breath. "You'd better go, then," is the only thing he can think of to say, and he lets her up from underneath him.

When she arrives back in her room, she evades Irvine's greetings and locks herself in the bathroom, running the shower over her body until all the hot water is gone. It doesn't help.


	23. Irrational

_65. Irrational_

He stares at his reflection in the mirror, trying to figure out what has made him so _repulsive_ to her, and he thinks that it can't be the scar, the one that blossoms just above his heart in a bitter parody of a flower, all hard, puckered skin and pale flesh, because he's got one between his eyes that she's never had a problem with. His fingers glance over the injury, still sensitive and shooting up tiny sparks when he touches it.

Two inches down, and they'd all be playing harps right now.

The worst thing about it, the very _worst_ thing about the whole event is that the last person he remembers seeing is Kinneas, watching him go right over the cliff, giving up everything as he falls and yet trying to hold onto it all, her face the last thing that he sees, because if he's going to die, he's not going to go without her.

They should have let him drown.

It's pointless to come back, but he _had_ to, because he's _SeeD_, and that's what they do, that's what everyone tells him that SeeD should do. He's pissed that she made him pass those stupid exams in the first place.

He should have been _dead_. Hyne knows he was close enough.

Sure, he would leave, turn tail and run, as much as it's lame of him to admit it, because Quistis is about the only thing that kept him remotely interested in Garden after..._everything_. He stares at his reflection and when he can't find what makes him so repulsive, he breaks the glass.

"Stupid," Fujin says, standing next to him and not even remotely sympathetic as Kadowaki pulls a hundred tiny glass slivers out of his hand, and Seifer has to agree, but it's _Quistis_, and she makes him do stupid things.


	24. Smile

33. Smile

Irvine's head is in her lap, and she's putting a French braid in his hair just for something to do with her hands, the soft strands sometimes escaping her grasp. She makes a little sigh every time that happens. The television is quiet in the background, and as Quistis messes up the braid for the fourth time, she gives up and unravels it.

Irvine opens his eyes and looks up at her when Quistis's hands still at his shoulders. "Something wrong?"

_Everything_, she wants to tell him. This is all wrong.

"I'm okay."

"Good." He turns his head, grazing a kiss against her fingertips and she can't help but smile just a little.

The time will come when she will have to make a choice, and the smile disappears as she realizes just how hard it's going to be.


	25. Hourglass

_36. Hourglass _

_Tick-tock, tick-tock_, falling down the rabbit hole–_made of clouds and glass_.

Coming to land on a sandy shore, where there isn't anyone but himself and an illusion of a mother–_protect me_–in a black dress and walking on water.

He shouts her name–_Matron_–and the word is torn away by the wind. He moves like his limbs are encased in molasses, dragging slowly through time–_compression_–and she gets closer as he goes deeper into the churning, bubbling–_bloody–_sea.

_Mother. _

A touch. Satin over steel, claws at his temples, pity and disgust reflecting in her eyes.

And then he is screaming, screaming because she is in his head and all he can hear is _nothing_.

"Seifer–"

No. _No_, she can't have Quistis, can't mark her, can't touch her_. This will be the end. _

"Seifer!"

He reaches, grabs, clutches at nothing and something solid all at once.


	26. Dying

_  
83. Dying_

"Seifer..."

He's grasping onto her like someone drowning, and his eyes...his _eyes_.

It is like watching a man die in slow motion, from the inside.

It grabs at her heart and twists it into a crumpled ball, until there is nothing left but an empty hole in her chest, and his name dying on her lips.

He stares at her, and she can do nothing but stare back, her hands around his arm, his fingers digging into the front of her shirt and holding taut. She can't breathe, and it has nothing to do with how the collar is pulling tight against the back of her neck.

"Let me go."

Something in his face shift and changes, and he releases his hold abruptly, drawing back like the touch of fabric against his skin burns him.

He still has her heart in his hand.


	27. Bitter

_40. Bitter_

The door slams shut behind him before Seifer realizes that he's simply locked Quistis in the room, and now he's out in the hall with a nightmare behind his eyelids, the feeling of brushed cotton lingering between his fingers.

"Almasy. Some of us are trying to sleep here."

"Fuck you," he snaps, not really looking at Irvine because what's the fucking _point_? He leans against the wall. It's solid, unchanging--he doesn't go tumbling straight through it back into Time Compression or anything, at least.

The door opens again. He shuts his eyes and breathes deep. All he can see is that look on her face, her eyes wide and scared--Hyne, _terrified_, and he doesn't understand why. Seifer clenches his fists.

"...Quistis? What the hell're you doing?"

"Leave her alone." He can't help the words, can't stop them, can't squash the loathing in the letters. "Leave her."

There's a moment of absolute silence. Irvine's staring at him, a dangerous glint to his gaze. Quistis...he can't see her. He doesn't want to, but he can feel her right next to him, so close and he can't _touch_ her. It's all he wants.

Dammit, he was supposed to _die._


	28. You Never Know When to Stop

_69. "You never know when to stop." _

"_Quistis_."

He hates Seifer, and he hates himself. Irvine stands in front of the door, where she can't avoid him. He can't deal with her avoiding him like this--it's been three days.

Quistis ignores him, and punches in the number sequence to unlock her door. Hers. Not theirs.

Irvine decides that he hates himself more than he hates Seifer, and he hates Seifer a _lot_ right now.

"Quist--look."

She twists the handle violently, and shoves the door open.

"Would you just_ listen _to me? For one minute?"

"Sixty seconds, Irvine." Her eyes, ice blue and without a hint of compassion lingering them, watch his every move. Analyze, document, prepare method of attack accordingly. Quistis Trepe, always the soldier.

He was dead, you wanted this, I wanted _you_, what did you _expect_?

His head aches. "I'm not losing you to him."

Quistis has had twenty-one years to perfect a cold and deadly silence, and she wields it now like it's a Degenerator spell.

"...You just never know when to quit, do you?" she asks quietly, finally, her words puncturing him--proverbial bullets between the eyes. "It's not your decision." Quistis steps into the room, touching him with her shoulder, an accidental kiss of cloth and skin, the sensation a blistering rush of heat from Irvine's head to his toes.

The door shuts.


	29. Unsent Letters

_79. Unsent Letters_

The day her computer doesn't boot up smoothly is going to be a landmark bad day, Quistis decides, as there is a hum and a click, and "Welcome, Quistis Trepe" pops up on the screen. She navigates to her electronic mail; there are fifteen new messages, most from Squall demanding to know what's going on, and some from Xu, demanding to know the same thing, and who she'll have to kill to get some information. There are only six from the Trepies, a landmark low number, but it's only been a few hours since she last checked. That, and she supposes that threatening to kill the next one who sends her a personal declaration of their love right now, might have something to do with it.

She rattles off a curt reply to Squall about a mission in Esthar, and the program prompts her to save a copy to her Sent folder. Her finger hovers over the mouse.

There are fifty-two messages in that folder that she's never gotten a reply to. Right now, there are fifty-two messages that she doesn't _want_ a reply to. She doesn't know if he's ever read them.

_Get a grip, Quistis._

She clicks "No," and closes down the program before she has second thoughts about checking those messages again, just because. Maybe there was something she didn't remember saying. Maybe he's finally read them--she should check. Really. Just to make sure. 

The computer asks her if she wants to shut down, stand by, or restart. She selects "Shut Down."

If Seifer or Irvine want to talk to her, they can damn well get up and walk. She finds it's much more satisfying to slam a door in someone's face than she ever thought.


End file.
